


Pour Me Something Stronger

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Background Cap's, But Mike can handle himself, First Kiss, M/M, Protective Tom, Unwanted attention, but not from Tom or Mike, creepy behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: “He’ll be back,” TJ had said, nudging Mike’s beer closer to him.“I don’t care who he dances with.”“Sure,” he’d nodded. “How about we get drunk anyways?”
Relationships: Michael Latta/Tom Wilson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 121





	Pour Me Something Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure how to tag this, so let me know if you think anything should be added! Check end notes for spoilers if you're worried about something that may appear in the fic. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Don't own. 
> 
> Stay safe <3

There’s a solid crowd around the bar when Mike goes looking for a fresh round for the table. Wednesday nights are usually quiet, when all the people that work regular shifts are home dreaming of the weekend and the crowd is quick to empty out by ten. Mike hasn’t had a proper schedule since he was in highschool. Games are usually on the weekend, and dotted throughout the week, so if they want some down time, some time to cool off, it’s generally not when the rest of the world is doing it. 

Tonight is different- there’s at least one bachelor party and another birthday party he can make out. Burky’s already gotten sucked into dancing with the birthday girl, her friends spotting the tables the Caps had hunkered down at, swarming over them and dragging anyone they could off to the dance floor. He’d lost Tom to a pretty brunette. 

He’d watched as she led him by the hand to the small, packed dance floor, a sour feeling in his gut.

“He’ll be back,” TJ had said, nudging Mike’s beer closer to him. 

“I don’t care who he dances with.”

“Sure,” he’d nodded. “How about we get drunk anyways?”

They’d run out quickly. Carly had taken one look at Mike’s face and slid his own beer across with a sigh. He couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or pissed that he was apparently so easy to read.

“If I’m driving you home we’re not staying out all night again.”

“M’not drunk,” Mike protested even as he accepted the untouched bottle.

“Not yet,” TJ added helpfully. 

He’s up at the bar now, waiting for an opening in the crowd. No one else had been as willing to part with their drinks which had left them with a small collection of empty bottles and far too much sobriety. Carly’s a weird one though, kind when he could be chirping Mike for pining; it must be what having kids does to you. 

Mike catches a glance of the back of Tom’s head, out on the dance floor. He’s ducked down, easily one of the taller guys out there. He can imagine why, that big body curled around his petite brunette, faces pressed close together to hear one another over the music. He can imagine Tom’s big hands on her hips, the way she presses close. 

_ Fuck it, _ he thinks and swallows down his jealousy. 

A guy in a douchey fedora and popped collar vacates the bar and Mike quickly slips into the opening. 

“Four guinness and two shots of tequila.” The bartender nods and heads for the fridge off to the side. Mike leans against the counter, eyeing the crowd packed in around him. There’s a couple of hot guys, tons of gorgeous girls, but he’s not interested in trying to pick up tonight. There’s a good chance one of his roommates will though. He wonders idly if TJ would let him crash on his couch so he can make himself scarce.

“Here you go,” the bottles get placed before him, two shots poured. 

“Thanks, man.” He leaves a hefty tip, then tips back one shot and then the other. Just enough to give his buzz a boost.

“Woah,” the guy next to him gives him an impressed look. “Celebrating or drowning your sorrows?”

“Just looking to get drunk,” it’s mostly the truth. 

“A man after my own heart,” the guy says with a grin, all pearly white teeth. He’s handsome, a little taller than Mike but not by much, just enough that standing this close Mike has to look up to meet his gaze. He has cool blue eyes and dark hair and he’s eyeing Mike in a familiar way. “Let me buy you another.”

“I need to get these back to the guys,” he gestures at the beers. 

“Just one drink,” the guy presses. Over his shoulder, Mike catches sight of the busy dance floor- he can’t see Tom anymore. 

“Yeah alright.” He shrugs. If he wants to buy Mike a drink, he’s not going to say no to the company. 

One drink turns to two and eventually TJ comes wandering over to find out why he’s taking so long. Mike sends him back to the table with the beers, ignoring the knowing looks being sent his way. He’s not hooking up, despite what TJ’s probably telling the guys at the table, but he is enjoying the company. The guy, Mark, is a few years older than Mike, plays tennis and works at an art gallery and knows fuck all about hockey. Mike knows shit about art but he’s up for listening to Mark talk about it, drunk enough that he’s happy, content to watch the way his eyes light up when he talks about some guy that died a hundred years ago.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he looks up and realizes how much the crowd has thinned out. 

“Where’d everyone go?” 

Mark chuckles and sets his beer on the countertop, glancing around as well.

“Guess it’s too late for them.” 

Mike’s maybe a little more drunk than he originally thought if he’s only noticing now. Carlsons definitely driving him home- if Tom’s planning on bringing the pretty brunette back, maybe he can crash in Carly’s spare room. He’s got the softest sheets and an actual bed frame for his mattress, something Mike keeps meaning to get but hasn’t gotten around to. He scans the crowd but their tables are looking emptier, and he can’t see Carly there anymore.

“You look like you could use some air,” Mark says, expression amused but kind. 

Mike probably could. It’ll help sober him up enough to figure out how he’s getting home at least. He lets Mark lead him outside with an arm around his waist. It’s kind of nice, the feeling of a strong, warm body pressed against his. He leans a little more into his side, or maybe that’s just the alcohol knocking him off balance.

It’s chilly out, the brisk October air hinting at the cold winter they’re in for and he shivers. Mark’s arm around his waist tightens and the man is like a fucking space heater with the heat emenating off of him. The cold night air is helping clear his head, albeit slowly and he realizes there’s no one else out there at this time of night, save for them.

His stomach twists but maybe that’s the fifth beer. 

“Cold?” Mark asks and Mike shrugs. “C’mere.” He wraps his arms around Mike, pulling him closer. Mike goes easily at first, greedily soaking up the man’s warmth. His cologne tickles Mike’s nose, some expensive shit that Mike’s never considered spending his money on. It makes him want to sneeze so he breathes through his mouth instead. Mark’s hands are chilled, despite the heat coming off the rest of him, and Mike flinches as he cups his cheek, urging his face up. His lips are warm though when he kisses Mike, firm, and he lets it go on longer than he probably should before breaking it, taking a step back and out of Mark’s arms.

“Sorry,” his cheeks feel flushed. “I’m uh, not looking for anything right now.”

“It’s okay,” Mark closes the distance between them again. “It could just be something fun. No strings attached.” He flashes his pearly white teeth. 

“I don’t want to hook up,” he says, more firmly this time. “You seem like a great guy, but I’m not interested.”

“You don’t mean that,” Mark slides his hand along Mike’s shoulder, tries to cup his cheek again but Mike ducks out of his touch. “You were all but gagging for it a minute ago.”

Mike’s eyebrows shoot up. He takes another step back. 

“Check your ego, asshole. You aren’t  _ that _ good a kisser.”

Mark’s expression abruptly sours. “You should be thanking me. I saw you at the bar, looking so desperate for someone to pick you up.”

“Ordering beers. For my friends, who I’m gonna get back to now.” He rolls his eyes, feeling suddenly far too sober to deal with this guys shit. He heads for the front doors when a strong grip on his wrist jerks him to a stop. He stares down at Mark’s hand on him, then up at the man himself. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Mark sneers, squeezing Mike’s wrist until he’s certain he can hear the bones grind. “After all the time I wasted on you, you should be down on your knees thanking me.”

“Listen jackass,” Mike’s cut off as the front doors to the club bang open. Tom comes barrelling through them, expression wild as he scans the front patio before finally coming to a rest on the pair. They stare back. “Tom?”

Mark gives a jerk on his wrist that nearly throws him off balance. And you know what? Fuck it- Mike’s about two seconds away from levelling him. 

“Who the fuck is this?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Tom throws back. His gaze zeroes in on Marks hand on Mike. “Take your hands off of him. Now.”

“Mind your own business,” Mark tries to yank on Mike again but the guys got nothing on like, Ovi, and he shakes him off easily enough. Tom places himself between him and Mark, towering over them both. 

“I’m his boyfriend, shit head. He is my business.” 

Mike stares at Tom’s back trying to figure out if he’s still drunk and is imagining the entire situation. It’s too surreal for it to be anything other than a drunken hallucination. Tom squares his shoulders, looming over Mark like the thug the media paints him out to be. If Mark were smart this is where he’d beat a hasty retreat.

“Your boyfriend?” Mark laughs. The sound grates on his nerves. “He was gagging for my dick all night. Where were you?”

Mike easily sidesteps Tom. The crunch of Mark’s nose is satisfying as hell. He staggers, stumbles, and ultimately falls on his ass, clutching at his broken, bloody nose. 

“Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?” Mike shakes out his fist. His knuckles sting a bit but that’ll be gone by morning. 

“You fucking bitch!” Mark garbles up at him, expression murderous. “I’ll have you brought up on charges!”

“Good luck with that,” Mike waves him off. “There are cameras everywhere asshole, they’ll see you grab me before I ever hit you.” He glances at Tom, finds him glaring down at Mark as he writhes around on the pavement and sighs. He gently tugs on Tom’s shirt until he gets the clue and follows Mike back into the bar. 

“You’re just going to leave him there?” Tom hisses as he follows Mike, a step too close, knocking into his heels. “We should be calling the police!”

“What I’m going to do,” Mike stops next to the washrooms where the crowd is the thinnest and none of their teammates can overhear. He turns to face Tom, only to find him barely a breath away. “Is let the bartender know what happened, get that jackass banned, and then go home and get some sleep and say goodbye to this shit show of a day.”

Tom scowls down at him. 

“He assaulted you.”

“And I knocked him on his ass,” Mike reaches out, squeezing Tom’s arm. “I’m okay.”

Tom’s gaze skitters away. Mike feels exhausted. Whether it be from the adrenaline crash, or the beers or both he doesn’t know. All he knows is he wants is a hot shower and his bed, in that order. He’s ready to scrub that creeps touch off of his skin. 

“Have you seen Carlson?” He tears his gaze away from Tom to scan the bar. He sees a few familiar faces but most have headed home. 

“Dance floor maybe? Why?”

“I’ll just call an Uber.” He leaves Tom standing by the washrooms to fill in the bartender, who also happens to be the owner's cousin, on what happened. He’s understanding, quick to act and calls the cops for a drive by regardless of Mike protesting that he took care of the situation. They’ve got Mark’s credit card receipts, footage of him, and aren’t planning on letting him back in ever again. 

He shoots a quick text to Carlson and TJ letting them know he’s grabbing an Uber, then orders one, stopping by the table to get his coat before heading outside. Pushing through the doors he’s hit by a wave of apprehension but, aside from a few drops of blood on the pavement, there’s no sign of Mark. He’s still unsettled, but he figures he won’t feel comfortable until he’s back in their apartment with a few doors between him and this day. The door swings open behind him as he’s waiting for the car and he glances back reflexively, surprised to find Tom there.

“I’m taking you home.”

Mike bristles. “I think I proved I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not, I just,” Tom exhales, tries again. “Let me take you home? Please?”

Taking him home translates to sharing the Uber with him. The ride is quiet, tense. Mike spends it staring out the window, hyper aware of the way Tom fills up the space next to him, long legs spread out, body slouched low but leaning towards Mike. His gaze is on his phone as he texts furiously with someone- probably one of the guys. 

It’s a relief when they’re finally in the apartment. Mike heads straight for the washroom, stripping once he’s there, climbing into the shower and turning the heat up as high as he can stand it. He isn’t thinking when he grabs Tom’s body wash, the earthy scent filling the small space. Something in his chest relaxes at the familiarity as he scrubs away any trace of Mark’s touch on his skin. 

He’s pink and in danger of pruning when he finally shuts off the water. He dries off, securing the towel around his waist and steps out into the hall, the cool air of the apartment hitting him, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. It should probably come as a surprise to find Tom sitting on his bed, waiting for him, but it’s not. He’s still dressed in his clothes from the bar, like he kicked his shoes off and decided to wait Mike out in his own room.

“How’re you feeling?” Tom’s not the most sensitive of guys but he  _ tries, _ especially with his friends. There’s a fragile sincerity written across his face like he’s putting himself out there for Mike even though it’s probably  _ way _ out of his comfort zone. Mike gets it- he’s never been big on talking about his feelings either. With Tom, he doesn’t usually need to.

“Tired, like I’m going to be hung over sooner rather than later.” He digs through his drawers for a fresh pair of boxers and slides them on under the towel. He glances over but Tom’s gaze is firmly on the far wall, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. “How about you?”

“Like I want to hit someone,” Tom admits. His hands are clasped tightly together in his lap. Mike plugs his phone in next to his bed, then comes around, sinking down onto the mattress next to him. “I fucking  _ hate _ that he had his hands on you.”

“Should I have let you hit him instead?”

“Yes,” Tom says immediately and Mike huffs out a laugh, knocking their shoulders together. 

“Too bad. I got there first.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Do you wanna talk about how you called yourself my boyfriend?” Tom flushes and Mike figures that’s the end of the conversation. 

“Would you hit me if I said it was cause I wanted to be?” He stares at Tom, caught off guard. Tom stares back, defiant as ever, jaw clenched, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a hit.

“Fuck you, you know I wouldn’t,” is what spills out. He’s been out for  _ ages _ with the guys, what kind of a hypocrite does Tom think he is? Tom at least has the decency to look chagrined.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“And you like  _ women, _ Tom. You have a type- small, thin, big boobs.” None of which Mike fits.

“I  _ know,” _ Tom scowls at him. It’s not like Mike’s revealing any big secrets,  _ everyone _ knows the type of girl Tom hooks up with. Mike’s walked out of his room on too many mornings to find the latest slim little thing wearing Tom’s oversized Caps tee like a dress to  _ not _ know he’s  _ never _ had a chance there. 

“Let’s just call it a night,” Mike suggests, exhausted. He can’t read Tom’s mind right now, can’t figure out what he’s playing at and it’s left him drained. “Forget about it.”

Tom doesn’t move though, head ducked, hands clenched between his legs. His hair’s falling forwards like a curtain, shielding his face and Mike aches to reach out and brush it back, to be able to read those expressive brown eyes again. 

“Willy?” He prods, uncertain.

“What if I was, like bi?” 

“Are you?”

Tom shrugs, sitting up straight. One of his big hands falls to Mike’s bare thigh and he holds very still at the surge of heat that passes through him. 

“I mean, in theory I guess. I like women,” Tom’s expression is so sincere it hurts. “But there’s  _ never _ been anyone like you Latts.” 

Mike has to look away, chest aching.

“I can’t be your experiment,” he forces himself to say. If it wouldn’t destroy him when it ended he would in an instant, anything to be closer to Tom. But what they have is too precious to him. 

“You’d never be an experiment,” Tom promises, shifting closer. “You mean  _ way _ too much to me for that.”

“You’re not worried it would fuck everything up?” Mike demands but he’s folding and they both know it.

“You and me?” Tom grins at him and it’s blinding. “We’re solid. Nothing can ever break that.”

“You’re so fucking cheesey,” he rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away as Tom leans in. It’s what he imagined it to be, Tom’s stubble against his, his lips, chapped and insistent against his own. But it’s so much more too; the way he presses into Mike like kissing him is all he’s ever wanted, his breath against his cheek when they break apart. His hands are solid where they rest on Mike’s hip, where they cup his jaw, like he could move him anyway he wanted. 

Mike’s lips are tingling when they finally pull apart for good. He licks them, watches the way Tom’s gaze is immediately drawn there and smirks. 

“We’re not fucking tonight.”

Tom drops his head to Mike’s shoulder and groans.

“I have to sleep with  _ that _ image in my head?”

Mike huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, man. I want a proper date first.”

Tom leans back, giving him a knowing leer.

“So you  _ are _ that type of boy.” Mike rolls his eyes, giving him a shove hard enough to knock him off the mattress.

“Shut the fuck up and go to bed, Willy. I expect to be  _ wooed.” _

“You won’t know what hit you,” he promises from the floor. Mike's stomach swoops. He’s honestly not sure how he’s going to sleep either.

Outside of the room, their front door slams. 

“Burky must be back,” Tom pushes to his feet. He stretches, arms high above his head, arching his back. His shirt rucks up revealing a slip of tanned, toned skin. For once Mike doesn’t bother hiding his stare. Tom preens under the gaze. He’s probably created a monster- it’s no secret Tom loves being appreciated. Mike doubts he’ll be wearing a shirt for the next few days at least. 

The sound of something crashing to the floor reaches them and Mike stands, concerned for a moment before the muffled moans reach them. They freeze as the moans continue. 

“Oh wow,” Mike can’t help the laughter that escapes. “Burky picked up!”

“Can we  _ please _ go out there,” Tom asks, expression devious. 

“No! We’re not cockblocking him!” Tom pouts so Mike adds, “do you want him cockblocking you later?”

He winces. “Point taken. So if I can’t go out there, how am I supposed to get to my room?”

Mike narrows his eyes at the innocent look Tom’s expression has taken. He  _ must _ have planned this somehow, he isn’t sure  _ how, _ but otherwise it’s a mighty big coincidence.

“Boxers on.” Tom nods eagerly, stripping out of his jeans and shirt. Mike watches fondly as he clambers into the bed, easily taking his side. It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed, and it sure as hell won’t be the last if he has anything to say about it. He climbs in after Tom, rolls onto his side and a moment later Tom’s wrapped happily around him like an octopus. 

“Think he’ll invite his hookup to stay for breakfast?” Tom wonders, his warm breath tickling Mike’s ear. He shivers, has to remind himself firmly that they’re  _ not _ hooking up tonight. 

“If we set an alarm we could probably catch them before anyone sneaks out,” he reaches out, quickly setting an alarm for a disgustingly early hour. 

“We get to come back and cuddle after, right?” 

Mike huffs out a laugh, lacing his hands with Tom’s where it rests on his belly.

“Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> OC ends up being an asshole, coming onto Mike, doesn't like the word 'no', so Mike ends up decking him.


End file.
